


some other beginning's end

by cinderlily



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was luck entirely that David's phone had been on when Cook called. (Future fic, not AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	some other beginning's end

**Author's Note:**

> I asked [](http://slashophile.livejournal.com/profile)[**slashophile**](http://slashophile.livejournal.com/) what I could do to woo her back to the fandom. She asked for a happy ficlet and... well. This is neither. But I still wrote it for you, and will try my hand at something actually happy for you soon. :) I don't even know how I can thank [](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/profile)[**carolinecrane**](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/) for her betaing this, as she isn't a fan of the pairing but read it for me anyways. I am always thankful for her in general, but in this particular case she went above and beyond. Thank you Caroline. ♥

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:**|   
accomplished  
---|---  
**Current music:**| Semisonic: Closing Time  
**Entry tags:**|   
[cook/archuleta](http://cinderlily.livejournal.com/tag/cook/archuleta), [fics](http://cinderlily.livejournal.com/tag/fics)  
  
  
_**Fic :: Cook/Archuleta "some other beginning's end"**_

 

It was luck entirely that David's phone had been on when Cook called. It was one of the few nights where he had entirely nothing to do while on tour and he had thought he turned the phone off so he could play hermit crab but somewhere in the middle of his dinner of room service French fries and lemonade he heard the distant opening bars of 'Hello'. He jumped up and grabbed at his jeans from earlier off the bed. Fumbling in the pockets he pulled out his cell phone just as Lionel Ritchie was asking if it was him he was waiting for.

Out of habit he was humming the bars just as he hit send, and rather than hearing any form of greeting he heard a laugh come over the line.

"I thought I told you to switch that ringer out," Cook said, his voice familiar and warm.

David felt color on his cheeks. "Hey, you laughed when I told you about it the first time."

"I thought you were kidding," Cook pointed out.

"Are you calling to debate my ringtones?" he sighed, unsure as to why he even cared that Cook was teasing him. It was _Cook_, that is what he did. (He should just be thankful he only has to deal with Cook and Johns separately most of the time.)

The moment stretched until David got the weird feeling in his stomach like he was missing something or maybe like he had done something he hadn't intended on doing. It had been more than a few years since he was a teenager, but it didn't mean he had grown out of feeling like one. (In fact now he just felt like he had a magnifying glass on his own stupidity.) It was sobering to realize that he had probably glossed over many moments of horrifying embarrassment before he realized he should be. (Even worse, a lot of them were still on VHS at his parent's house.)

"I was just…" David began, but he was cut off again.

"Are you watching?"

Automatically David's eyes flicked around the room, not sure if he was expecting to find Cook on a chair or through a window (though unless Cook was also Spiderman or something there was little chance of that from his 8th story hotel room). He wasn't, though, and David swallowed around the let down.

"_Idol_, Archie," Cook tried, using the exasperated but amused tone that always made David weirdly shy. "Are you watching _Idol_?"

He picked up the remote that he hadn't touched since he walked in the room that morning and flipped the TV on. Once it went through the runner of hotel information and paused on the channel's list he frowned and dialed in the local _Fox_ channel.

In the years that had followed his season he made a point of watching the first few episodes. Sometimes he watched because he knew some of his friends were guests, sometimes he watched to see how the seasons were going. This season he had skipped the first two and only jumped in on the Top 50, only when one of the girl's from the opening band admitted to having it recorded religiously. He was shocked to realize that he had forgotten which nights it played live.

"Top ten," he frowned. He had missed a few. "What's the theme again?"

"Year you were born."

"_Lame_."

Cook laughed, "Man, I miss you."

David realized a second too late that he was supposed to respond to that instantly. He still wasn't the best at social cues, phones especially, so by default it lapsed into an awkward silence. He stared at the screen and watched in fascination as a short red headed girl sang the words to 'Unpretty'. He couldn't remember her name for some reason.

"It's going to be Greta," Cook said into his ear and David frowned and shook his head even though he knew Cook couldn't see him.

"Have you seen Andrew? That guy has it, he is just still getting his footing," David muted the TV, he watched in fascination as Greta's face turned pink forcing the last few notes out (even with the sound off he could see from the frustration on her face that she had come up just short of hitting them). "Besides, Greta is all mechanics. She doesn't pick music that she really likes, she goes for what she thinks will win."

Cook's tongue clucked across the line, "And Andrew doesn't? He picked 'Blowing in the Wind' for his sixties song. Real innovator, right there."

"I told you, he is finding his footing," he shrugged. "Wait till final eight, then he will come out swinging."

"If he makes it to the final eight," Cook muttered, but David had to smile at the obvious concession in his voice.

*

He woke the next morning to the sounds of the local morning show on _Fox_, a crick in his neck from where he was still holding his phone and a huge smile on his face. It had been a while since he had watched _AI_ with Cook, even just over the phone. Somehow he had forgotten just how colorful his commentary always ended up. Had anyone else made the jibes he heard from Cook, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have found them the least bit funny but somehow he pulled them off without sounding like a total jerk.

The thing was, as time had gone by he had slowly come to realize that what they had all gone through, what they had all shared, was unique in and of itself. That even though he had met and even became friends with a few contestants from seasons other than his he felt like it hadn't been duplicated before or since. (He wondered, sometimes, if they all thought the same thing. If it was this strange fraternity of singers that only could be truly appreciated from the inside.)

In the few years since _Idol_, he and Cook had developed a rhythm of sorts. Most of the time it was Cook who did the actual calling, a habit born form the brief time where Cook was the busier one and David had never quite known when was okay to call. He would text message though, if he wanted to talk and didn't want to intrude.

He did text a few times over the next few days but Cook's texts back were stuttered and with uncharacteristically long breaks between. There wasn't much he could do but wait it out, really.

A week later his phone vibrated in his pocket. He was just about at the tail end of his autographs, and hesitated for a split second before he pressed send, put a finger in one ear turned his head away from the noisy crowd.

"Hello?"

"Did you see our boy tonight?"

David had to fight a laugh, still surrounded by fans and crew. When a girl's voice called out from behind him, "Look at that smile, it's Cook, isn't it?" He didn't answer but ducked his head to hide his blush and walked towards his bus.

He loved that with in a week Andrew had gone from his to theirs, the smooth transition not even requiring Cook to say anything about it. It wasn't like Cook couldn't admit when he was wrong but he had a habit of just glossing over the process. He climbed the stairs into the bus, feeling pretty bad about not finishing off the last few signatures. Truthfully, he was bone tired and wore out, and couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to fall asleep.

"Rather than watch others sing, I was doing it myself," he said, toeing off his shoes and falling back on to the tour bus' love seat.

"You cut me, Archuleta," Cook laughed. "I was just sizing up the competition for you."

He smiled, "How considerate of you. How does it seem now?"

"Well, I got to be honest here, Andrew is good," Cook offered. "But there is a dark horse on the horizon."

David could feel the urge to fall asleep fuzzing his brain, and he forced his head up off the comfortable headrest. "Greta is not going to make..."

"She got voted off tonight, Nostradamus. I meant Mark."

He blinked, that wasn't what he was expecting at all. "Mark?"

"The New Yorker."

"The guy who looks like that one guy from the crime show?"

Cook laughed, "_That guy from the crime show_'? Good thing I speak fluent Archuleta. That's Logan, and he is from Jersey not New York."

"Hmm."

"Mark is the one with the huge family."

To be honest, David could just barely remember what Logan looked like, and definitely couldn't picture Mark if his life depended on it but he gave a noncommittal response and hoped that Cook would take from it whatever he needed. He got up off of the couch and walked the four or five steps to his bunk. He wasn't quite ready to put down the phone. "Mark is the dark horse?"

He fell asleep to the sound of Cook describing the way the show had gone.

*

 

Most nights it was all that David could do to get himself into his bunk and close the curtain before he was out like a light. He had never been a night person really, so the nights he had concerts till eleven and meet and greets till whenever he was so out of it that even if he had had a full day of things weighing on his mind he rarely had a problem clearing them out.

Sometimes though, when the road felt just too loud to lull him into sleep and his blood felt like it was at least half adrenaline from the stage and the other half ambition to get his life in order, sleep was the last thing he could get.

The concert had been awesome that night, one of those where he swore up and down that the audience wasn't just a casual observer but an organic part of the music. He had gone back for an encore and played far longer than he would have any other time, only stopping when the stage manager's voice came through his ear piece to tell him he had exactly two minutes to get off stage before he was going to be fined for noise violations. He had floated through the meet and greet and onto the bus.

He gave up on his bunk after only a few minutes, knowing that there just wasn't much chance of him coming down soon. He looked at the map that he had on the wall and traced with his finger the route that the bus was taking him, towards the last few concerts before he was going to get a break.

Less than a week and he was going to be on his way back to Murray, a few days to chill out and catch up with his family. He reached into his pockets to grab his phone, half formed ideas of calling his parents nixed when he saw the time flashing up at him. It was just past two in the morning, which really meant that it was midnight in Murray but he wasn't delusional enough to think any of his family was up. He fidgeted with the screen for a minute, thought that maybe he should try to go back to the bunk for a bit but stopped short when a little envelope popped up in the center of his screen.

_You up?_

He smiled, and rather than responding with a text back he just hit enter. He walked to the very back of the bus and closed the partition. He didn't have to share his bus anymore but he still liked the comfort and privacy of the couched in back area. His manager had pointed out that he could change it to a bedroom like most artists did, but he was a creature of habit and liked it that way it was.

It rang two times before Cook answered, "So I take this as a yes?"

"Shouldn't you be out living it up like a rock star?"

He got a dry laugh in response. "I figured I would take tonight off."

"It's nice of you to give others a chance?" he tried, weirdly aware of how fake his voice sounded in response to the low rumble that was Cook's. His stomach tensed at the silence that followed until he felt the need to check that the line hadn't been dropped. "Cook?"

Another moment and then Cook was back, his voice less intimate and more like it usually was. "Did you watch the show?"

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with the topic jump but when it did he frowned. He knew he had forgotten something. The remote to the TV was in arms reach and he grabbed at it and switched the DVD player on. "I caught the first bit before I went on stage. I had one of the crew record it for me, but I haven't watched it yet."

"I can let you go..."

"No!" he responded a little too quickly. He had the TV muted and was forwarding through the show. "I … um. Don't think I will be able to watch it all. Catch me up?"

On the screen he saw Logan doing a bizarre little dance, probably only fractionally more ridiculous with the sound off and three times the speed. He couldn't hear it of course, but he had watched it earlier and flinched when he knew Logan had hit a really awkward note in the middle of 'Alison'.

"You sure?"

"Totally."

The judges flew through judging, and he thought about how useful a fast forward button would have been through Simon's opinions. After a commercial for the 2017 Ford ended he pressed play again, watched as Mark walked on stage with his guitar.

"Logan screwed up the final chorus of 'Alison'," Cook started. "And Mark had a problem with the mike I think, he kept losing count during 'America'."

He hummed along to the silent chorus that Mark was messing up on TV. "What about Andrew?"

"He was awesome, you were right, he got his stride. He was the only one who didn't redo one of the songs they auditioned with."

It was weird how even though it wasn't him on that stage, he still felt like preening under Cook's approval. "What song did he do?"

"Springsteen's 'Born to Run'."

David was in the middle of a standard response when that set in. It was …well. It wasn't a song he would have picked for Andrew's voice. Actually given a thousand songs to go through he still wouldn't have picked it. "_Really_?"

"Really."

He flicked it back into fast forward, going through the commercial and hitting play again just as Andrew walked back on stage. When he turned the sound back on it was way too loud, and he had to hit the volume down a few times to get it back to reasonable. Cook must have heard that it was playing, because he stayed silent.

Andrew, who looked like he was still 17 when he was actually 21, stepped into the center of the stage and began to play. At very first the audience was buzzing like it usually did but before the second line started it was dead silent.

When he finished without a flourish or even a look to the audience it stayed silent for another moment or two and then the entire audience burst into applause. The three judges stood up and gave an ovation and David hit mute before he had a chance to hear their inevitable praise.

"Wow," he breathed, and he swore he could hear Cook's nod through the phone.

"Look at Mark," Cook said, and David flicked his eyes off of the center of the screen to the little side area where the others were. For a moment he couldn't distinguish the faces but then they flashed to Ryan and just over his shoulder Andrew had stepped into the contestant box and had been accosted by high fives and arms. When Mark's head made contact with the nape of Andrew's neck his face came into sharp focus, his eyes closed but his smile wide and relaxed.

And it was a long moment before David had to turn away, feeling like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be. He laid himself back flat on the couch and stared up at the fake twinkling stars on the ceiling. "You think they…"

Cook didn't respond, again, and David didn't know what to make of it. The last few calls hadn't been chock full of conversation, but somehow now he felt every silence ten fold. He waited this one out, sure that he just needed to give room for him to breathe.

"They say this is the last one, did you know that?"

He sat up. "What?"

"No one is willing to sign another contract," Cook amended. "And the ratings have been going down slowly."

David forced himself back, closing his eyes and rubbing at the ache in his chest with a flat palm. It wasn't exactly unexpected, but it still caught him off guard. "… Oh."

"Yeah … _oh_."

*

David frowned at his plate of Pahd Se-ew, instantly regretting not getting his usual Gang Karee. When a hand came into his field of vision he was forced to look up at Brooke, who was giving him a curious look. He was sure if she asked he could probably get away with saying he was exhausted because he just got off of tour but that wasn't true.

His brain had been on high alert since the day before when he called his mother to ask if he could come and stay for a few days to find out that his family was more or less scattered to the wind for schools and jobs and it would be senseless to come back. He wasn't sure why he felt so aching about it but he had felt off since he landed that morning.

Brooke seemed to be waiting for him to say something and he wasn't proud of how little he had been investing in the conversation. He knew, though, that it was better to just admit to that. He wasn't great at lying on his best days, and this wasn't one of those by a long shot.

"… I'm sorry?"

"Have you talked to Cook lately?" Brooke asked, the tone of voice making it obvious this wasn't the first time she had asked him.

"Yes?" he paused. Brooke hesitated, her lips a thin line, "We have been talking a lot, actually. He is like unnaturally into _Idol_ this season. We talk through the show."

She chewed on her lip and looked at him for a long moment. "You're the only one who has then."

"What do you mean?"

"He is supposed to be recording a new album right now, you know that right?"

Somewhere, distantly, that made sense to him. He remembered hearing it through Brooke or maybe Jason but he hadn't actually heard Cook talk about it as of yet. He ventured a guess, "And he isn't?"

"Hasn't been to the studio in like a month," Brooke said. "He keeps telling his manager that he is writing but he isn't talking to any of us, Archie. Not his manager, or Johns, or Andy… no one."

He let that set in for a moment before his brain could even begin to make any actual connections with what she was saying. When it clicked over he was actually kind of embarrassed at how long it took for him to put it all together. How would Cook have so much free time if he was working on a record?

He twirled his fork in the cooling noodles, not really attempting to take a bite. "Except for me."

"Apparently."

"Huh." He let go of his fork and watched it fall into the bowl of sauce. He wasn't sure if he should feel proud that he was the person that Cook was still talking to or annoyed at being the only one out of the loop. Instead, he felt the beginnings of guilt churn in the base of his stomach. "I should have noticed something more. How horrible am I?"

Brooke reached out a hand to rest it on top of his. "Listen to me, you aren't horrible. He is just good at hiding it."

Truthfully that didn't ease his guilt a shred but he tried his best smile when that didn't work he looked away from her. "Okay, so now what?"

"You got me."

*

Brooke's voice gnawed at the back of his brain for the rest of the day. He admitted he was caught off guard about Cook taking an unplanned hiatus from music but the fact that he hadn't mentioned it to him yet shouldn't bother him as much as it did. It wasn't like they had ever really been the type of friends that tells each other everything, and besides that is usually reserved for friendships that involved a girl, right? Well, okay. For a while there had been a time where he would have only gone to Cook when it came to a problem, but life had been busy for the two of them, that was what it had to be like.

Still though... _still_.

He ended up on Cook's doorstep before he could talk himself out of it. The minute or so between when he rang the bell and when Cook opened the door gave him plenty of time to panic. Should he have called first? Or maybe brought something with him? His mom would kill him for being so thoughtless and rude like that.

Then the door swung open and Cook was there, pajama bottoms and a wife beater with his hair flat on his head and his beard just the other side of unkempt. He didn't look depressed or anything, maybe just a little more tired than he usually did. Cook's lips broke into a smile that took over his entire face.

"Just in time," Cook grinned, turning on his heel with silent understanding that David would follow him. "I was just about to order some pizza. You like anchovies, right?"

David stutter stepped, his face screwing up, "Ew."

"Delivery," Cook said into his cell phone, he pointed at the TV where a frozen Ryan Seacrest stood mid stage. David sat on the edge of the couch and listened into him ordering. "Yea, can I get a large meat lover's, extra cheese?"

David leaned back, it wasn't like he really thought Cook would order anchovies but he still had a hard time reading Cook's deadpan. The coffee table in front of him had a layer of take out and magazines a foot deep and David hesitated for all of twenty seconds before he walked past Cook still on the phone and grabbed an empty trash bag from the kitchen.

"You really don't have to…" Cook said when the phone call ended, but it was already too late for that. Once he started cleaning he didn't like to stop. "I have someone come in every other week to do that Archie…"

David didn't think there was anyway on earth that someone had been here to clean in the last month but he kept that to himself. "This way we can enjoy the show without worrying about it all tumbling over."

"I wouldn't have worried," Cook said, but he was sweeping a layer of magazines into the almost full bag in David's hands. "Weren't you going back to Murray for a while?"

David pulled the top of the trash bag closed and did his best not to make eye contact when he handed it to Cook. When Cook was far enough away he responded as casually as he could, "No one was going to be there, so I came back h--here instead."

He blinked at how he had almost referred to LA as home rather than Murray. It shouldn't be weird, he hadn't really lived in Murray for a decade, but he hadn't been sure that it was officially transitioned away from home to just where his family lived. Cook didn't seem to notice, or was kind enough to just move on from it. David had returned to where he had been seated earlier and Cook flopped down beside him.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Cook said, Seacrest finally moving again on the screen.

"Yea?" David turned just in time to see an emotion he couldn't read leave his friend's face.

Cook turned back to look at him and there was no trace of it, just a genuine smile. "Yea, something tells me this is about to get good."

*

By the time the show ended the pizza crusts were the only remnants in the box in front of them. Cook had popped open a beer to accompany dinner and David had downed a ridiculous amount of water to make up for the salty pizza crust. It had been good, great even. To both of their surprises Logan-from-Jersey had been voted off and the shy brunette Julia had stayed on, making the final four the final three.

"I haven't eaten like that in forever," David said, feeling the beginning of fat puppy syndrome starting. He lulled his head over to catch Cook staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Cook?"

Cook didn't turn back to look at him, just kept staring up. "It feels weird to think it's almost over."

"What is?"

"The show," he said, his frown making the wrinkles at the side of his eyes more visible.

David hesitated, it wasn't like he hadn't been thinking the same thing since Cook had mentioned it the first time. It was an institution, not to mention a huge part of his life. Of course it was going to be hard to get used to. Cook's face was completely unreadable again, his lips relaxed just enough to seem pensive rather than upset.

"Do you think they are going to say something about it?" he asked, finally, and Cook turned to look at him. "Like a huge 'Goodbye Idol' bash or something?"

Cook shrugged. "Who knows? It might just be a rumor, or they might try and revamp it for real."

"Well," David sighed. There really wasn't much to say, and he hated moments like that. "That sucks."

Cook's eyes widened and he let out a long laugh. "Did you just say the word 'sucks'? Has fame finally gotten to you? What's next, booze and hookers?"

"Oh my gosh, _gross_," David took the throw pillow he had been holding in his arms and thwacked Cook directly in the stomach. Cook retaliated with his own pillow and somehow it ended up with them on their backs on the floor in front of the couch, their feet the only thing left where they had been sitting.

"It's probably for the best," David said, after long stretches of silence helped him to catch his breath. "You know? It's time for all of us to move on."

And the minute the words came out he regretted them, because he knew what it might come out as and it was definitely not what he meant. He didn't mean he wanted to move on from American Idol, or from their season, just as a greater collective. The show had probably run its course a while back… he would be sad to see it go but didn't want it was better to go with a bang than a whisper…

The problem was that there was no way for him to say what he meant without back peddling or worse saying something that just further stuck his foot in his mouth. He turned to look at Cook who was already staring back.

"Yea, I guess it is," he said, and he seemed so serious and sad that David wanted to reach out and take his hand. Instead he closed his eyes and counted to thirty. He looked over and Cook's eyes were closed, face lax with sleep. He used the key he had almost forgotten he had and let himself out.

*

"I think I just made it worse," David admitted miserably. Over the phone Brooke sighed in a way that was scarily reminiscent of his mother. He looked out the window of his condo and stared at a squirrel who was making tracks along the wall that separated his 'patio' and his parking space. It had been three days since he left Cook sleeping on his floor and he hadn't heard a peep from him, something that usually wouldn't be that big of a deal except that it totally was.

He had called Brooke under the guise of seeing if she was going to the finale but gave in before she could get a word out. She hadn't heard anything from him either, and hadn't even heard from anyone on the grapevine.

"You could call him," Brooke offered. "Or go by his house again."

That was logical, he got that, but he didn't want logical at that moment. Especially not from Brooke, who had been the one to point out the thing with Cook in the first place. He had been perfectly happy up until that exact moment. Well, he had thought he was, which was more than he could say for himself right then.

"He'll call if he wants to talk," he gave in lamely.

There was a pause, in which he prayed that the point was dropped and then Brooke's voice came back through the line how he remembered it, happy and warm. "Wait, are you going to the finale? I hear this might be the last one. Can you believe it? It feels like it hasn't been that long since our season, and now it's over? I guess life is moving along. Totally weird, right?"

*

All of the next Tuesday David felt like he was holding his breath. He had meetings in the morning, a set of three phone interviews in the early afternoon … but he deliberately kept his night open. He realized at about a quarter to seven that that had been kind of dumb of him. If Cook didn't call him he was going to have a pretty long and empty night and nothing to even distract him with.

He thought about ordering food, but nothing seemed appetizing. There was this weird feeling under his skin, the urge to sit down but the inability to keep his legs still. He walked around his suddenly small condo for a while, clearing up non-existent messes and flipping back and forth between the Fox affiliate and E! which was giving a retrospective of _American Idol_'s fifteen seasons and small blips of each of the finalists over and over again.

Just as he saw the beginning of Mark's profile for what felt like the 30th time that evening the doorbell rang. He hesitated for a minute, straining to think just who could be there. When he heard someone pounding on his door rather than just ringing the doorbell he felt a weird bubble pop in his chest and all but ran to the door.

Cook stood in the doorway, hands holding two large brown bags. David reached out for one of them automatically, his brain taking a second to connect that the warm weight in his hands was food, and another second to connect that it really was Cook there. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he had to swallow a few times to get his words unstuck.

"I was waiting for you to call," he blurted out.

Cook quirked a familiar smile, and reached with his free hand into his pocket to show off his phone, "I could do that, if you want."

He flushed, "Um… no. That's okay."

They stood there, neither talking, for a long moment before David realized just how silly it must be and swung the door open and tilted his head as a invitation to come in. There was a moment of déjà vu when Cook started down the hallway to the kitchen in front of him and it was just about enough for David to think that maybe he had imagined the six days of radio silence.

Cook walked into the kitchen and put the brown bag down and David put the one he had next to it. As he reached in to take out a box it occurred to him that the bags had enough food for a dozen people rather than just two.

"Are more people coming?"

Cook shook his head and gave a self deprecating laugh, "I guess I kind of panicked, couldn't remember what you liked."

"So you ordered everything?" David teased as he took out another box. He opened the top to find a familiarly spicy smell. He looked over at where Cook was looking into a small Chinese take out box of rice. "You didn't, did you?"

"I didn't order **everything**, Archie. It would be a pretty pathetic Thai place if this is all they had."

He had a point. David opened up another box and smiled, "Gang Karee."

When he walked over to one of the cabinets to pull out a few plates he heard Cook cluck in mock disapproval. "Plates? What kind of bachelor are you?"

"I just…" he looked at his cabinet and then back at the open containers. Cook's lip quirked up a little, momentarily, and David shrugged casually. "This isn't a plate, it's a bowl, and I might be a bachelor but I am not a _heathen_."

It wasn't until he heard the bark of happy laughter that that had caused that David realized he hadn't heard Cook laugh like that in forever.

*

 

Andrew went first, a judge's choice of Semisonic's 'Secret Smile' and by the time he finished it they were both in agreement that the other two were essentially auditioning for the other spot. David didn't know if it was because Cook had pointed it out the other night but when Mark took stage to sing 'Rocket Man' he found that when the camera showed Andrew's smiling face there was something there that he hadn't seen in any other of the shows before.

"Do you think they know that we all… you know… can _see_ that?" David asked when they showed another hug. "It feels like I am intruding or something."

Cook shrugged, "People said that about us, you know."

David knew that, actually. Not at the time, of course, but he would have had to have been deliberately dense to avoid it after. There had been a brief span of time where he had freaked out, sure that viewing public had seen the crush that he had spent the better part of a year trying to hide from himself but it passed when he realized that most of the comments were about Cook being overly affectionate and really? Cook was overly affectionate with everyone, it was just his thing.

"You think it's true?"

Cook kept his face towards the screen, but his eyes moved infinitesimally towards David, "About us?"

The thing was, Cook didn't seem like he was teasing, not even a little. David waited a long moment for Cook's lips to twitch, or for him to laugh and take it back but he didn't. He thought that maybe there was a dare behind the question, but he chickened out before he could see if he was right. "About… about them."

"Who knows?" Cook said, his eyes back to the screen and face blank, suddenly enthralled by Randy's gushing review. "I don't think anyone can get it from the outside."

He worried his lower lip. "I don't think you get it even when you are on the _inside_."

Neither of them talked through Julia's rendition of 'The First Cut is the Deepest', which was slow and sweet with just the right tinge of ache. Suddenly the earlier decision of Andrew's inevitability was somehow called to question, and probably for the first time since he was actually worrying about his own results he felt a tight bundle of nerves in his stomach.

"I can't believe you still vote," Cook laughed.

David looked up sheepishly from where his fingers were poised and at the ready over his cell phone, and placed it back in his pocket. "I don't vote … all the time."

Andrew was back on screen, new clothes and a different guitar.

"Doesn't feel like it's been eight years," Cook admitted, and that thought hadn't even occurred to David. _Eight years_? That was a third of his life ago. He still couldn't accept how long that was.

"I talked to Brooke the other day," David blurted out. "She said… She said…"

He wanted to groan, wanted the courage to actually ask the question of what was going on but it didn't seem to be something he could get himself to do. Cook's face had frozen, the teasing smile still there but looking less friendly by the moment.

"What?" Cook broke first.

"She said you weren't answering any of your calls or anything," David looked at the TV again, stared at it and acted like maybe he was saying it to no one in particular. "That you gave up recording and that… you weren't talking to _anyone_."

The awkward silence was only broken by Julia beginning her loud cover of 'Piece of My Heart', briefly reminding David at just how little he understood the judges making any of the girls try Janis Joplin songs. He felt his fingers tap out the rhythms on the couch beside him, more a twitch than trying to keep with the song.

"I needed a break."

David had no idea why that made him bristle, "But you talked to **me**."

"Yeah, I did."

The TV switched to commercial and David finally gave into the urge to look at Cook. Frustratingly he still couldn't read anything more from his face so he turned back. He felt something in him break, "Because you didn't think you had to tell me anything. Cause you can talk about nothing to me."

"You can't really think that."

He turned again, annoyed until he saw the look on Cook's face. "Then why?"

"I can talk to you about anything without the pressure," Cook said and then shook his head. "Not without pressure, I mean I trust you to know when I need time."

David opened and closed his mouth, completely speechless. He leaned back again, not quite relaxed but somehow relieved. On the screen the final three were waving at the audience, looking as nervous and wide eyed as he was feeling at just that moment. Suddenly there was a flash of movement in front of him, a quick flash of green eyes and then warm lips.

There was something to be said for the feeling of free fall that was being kissed by Cook. It wasn't exactly how he had pictured it, which was saying something when he took into account just how many times he _had_ pictured it. When his brain got back online, he tried to kiss him back but he ended up kissing the ridge below his nose rather than his original target.

The fact that the TV was still on in the background was unsettling rather than sweet (perhaps because they had a kleenex commercial as their soundtrack). Cook's beard brushed up against his cheek and it _tickled_ and man... he was just doing nothing right. It wasn't exactly funny, but he couldn't help his nervous laughter and was relieved when Cook laughed too.

He placed a hand beside Cook's head on the couch and pulled back to give him a considering look.

"You… want this?"

Cook ducked his head forward, landing on David's shoulder, and for a moment David couldn't tell why he felt him shaking before he heard the sharp intake of a breath followed by a peel of laughter. "You could say that."

They shifted which gave Cook the upper hand and David was pressed down into the couch. In the back of his mind he wondered if they should move or even just turn off the TV that was currently showing Ryan Seacrest's run down of the nights events (and that was pretty unromantic, if David said so himself). But Cook had his hand on David's shirt, flicking open the top few buttons with surprising ease and he tried to do the same but wasn't quite as graceful and really the TV stopped mattering quickly after that.

*

 

The next morning David woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating its way across his side table. It took a half a second to remember how he got to his bed in the first place, but the sight of the back of Cook's head on the opposite pillow brought it all back in Technicolor. He grabbed at his phone, even though he was pretty sure Cook would sleep through an earthquake.

Seeing the name he swung his feet over the edge and walked as quietly as he could back into his bathroom.

"Hello?" he said, voice still just above a whisper even with the door closed.

"David?" Brooke said, her voice almost too loud in his otherwise empty surroundings. "Why are you whispering?"

That was not a question that he wanted to answer just yet. His eyes darted to a small clock he kept by his sink. "Why are you calling me at eight in the morning?"

Brooke was blessedly easy to distract. "Carly is in town, we figured we would have a mini _Idol_ party, see who the final two are going to be. Johns is in, if you can get a hold of Cook he can come to. It will be fun! Food, friends and none of us worrying about elimination... You in?"

"Of course," he answered and after he peered through the sliver that his door was open he smiled to himself. "And I think I can get Cook to come too."

"Really? Awesome!" Brooke bubbled.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror and made a mental note to where a shirt that would cover the small round hickey on his collar bone. "Need me to bring anything?"

"If you can get Cook to come you will have already done more than enough," she laughed. "But if you want something other than the most likely over abundance of unhealthy snacks you might have to bring your own."

The thought that he probably should have asked Cook if he would want to go before making the promise didn't hit him until he had the phone back in his pocket. He hadn't actually promised though, just said he _thought_ he could, so he tried not to feel too bad. He grabbed his toothbrush from it's holder and quickly brushed away his morning breath before slipping back into his bedroom and under the covers.

"Who was it?" Cook asked, his words sleepily slurred and his eyes closed

David rolled on his side to face him. "Brooke is having an _Idol_ viewing thing at her place tonight. Carly is in town and Johns is planning on coming… "

"We should go."

Cook opened an eye to look at him just as David leaned in to give him a kiss, "Yeah. We should."

*

 

"Those two need to get a room," Brooke said. David just barely kept himself from jerking guiltily away from where his body was pressed against Cook's before he realized she wasn't looking at them at all but rather at the TV.

Carly frowned at the screen as she reached over to grab the popcorn that Johns had commandeered early on, "I don't know… it seems like maybe they don't know yet."

"Don't know it? Are they _blind_? How could they not see that?"

David and Cook shared a quick smile before David turned back to watch the finalists grin wildly at each other, "Maybe they just need time."

 

  
_"every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."  
-Semisonic "Closing Time_


End file.
